Final Dawn: Season 3 (The Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Series) (2 page)

Rachel Walsh | Marcus Warden | David Landry

9:24 AM, April 21, 2038

“You win, Doe! I surrender!”

Hovering just a few dozen feet from him, the helicopter’s rotor wash was blindingly powerful. Marcus turned his head slightly and kept his eyes closed as he waited for a response. Several seconds passed, and Marcus had nearly convinced himself that the next noise to come from the chopper would be the sound of a missile. So certain was he of his inevitable death that the crackle of a speaker made his heart skip a beat before it resumed its rapid pounding.

“Kick it away, then get down on your knees.”

The voice was precise and calculated, and Marcus knew that the lack of emotion in the voice was not just because it was coming through a speaker. The man behind the voice showed no emotions, and even now he was the epitome of detachment. Marcus did as he was told, kicking the rifle in front of him several feet away. The cockpit of the helicopter was darkened and impossible to see into, but Marcus knew that the man behind it was watching every movement with a hawk’s eye, looking for any signs of treachery.

“Where are the others?”

Marcus had counted on this question coming next and already had a response planned. Assuming that Doe already knew exactly how many of them were there and who they were, Marcus spoke carefully, doing his best not to contradict anything that Doe might have seen or heard.

“Rachel was in the armored car, and David’s… somewhere. I’m not sure where, but his leg’s under the train.”

Another several seconds passed in silence. Marcus fought the urge to look away, keeping his gaze trained on the helicopter. Finally, Doe’s voice came again.

“Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head. If you move, I will kill you.”

You
’d be better off killing me now, you fool.
Marcus lowered his head, interlacing his hands behind it as he dropped to both knees. The whine of the helicopter’s rotors lessened as it descended to the ground, finally touching down. Marcus raised his head slightly and watched as a side door on the helicopter popped open. With the rotors still spinning, a man exited the side door. Keeping his head low, he walked forward toward Marcus, pistol in hand. Dressed in his ever-present suit and tie, Marcus’s first sight of Mr. Doe was somewhat threatening, if not slightly amusing. Though there was no questioning the fact that Doe was not a man to be trifled with, seeing a man wearing a suit during the apocalypse wasn’t something Marcus thought he’d ever see.

After he cleared the rotors, Mr. Doe straightened his back and raised his arm, keeping his pistol trained on Marcus. An all-black Walther, the cold steel matched the darkness of Doe’s suit and tie to perfection, giving an appearance that wasn’t just a coincidence. Intimidation was part of Mr. Doe’s arsenal of weapons, but it was one that Marcus was far too tired to bother with caring about. Bruised, beaten and run down, Marcus was stretched to his limit. His physical condition, combined with feelings of shame and guilt over having lost control earlier and having led Mr. Doe straight to them, Marcus’s mind was no longer capable of feeling intimidation.

“Your name is Marcus, correct?” Mr. Doe stopped a few feet in front of Marcus. He held the gun with an iron grip, his arm never wavering as it kept the barrel aimed directly at Marcus’s left eye.

“That’s right. Marcus Warden.” Marcus blinked his eyes as he looked up at Mr. Doe, trying to wash away the dirt and dust that was still collecting there from the helicopter’s downwash. “Do you mind turning that damned thing off?” Mr. Doe’s eyes were cold and nearly black, and his expression didn’t change at all while both he and Marcus were speaking.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Warden. Tell me again; where are the others?”

Marcus started to remove his right hand from behind his head to point toward the APC, but stopped as Mr. Doe’s index finger smoothly moved toward the trigger.
Shit
, Marcus thought
, this isn
’t going to be as easy as I thought
. He stretched his back, moving it left to right in exaggerated circles. The cold steel and wood grain pressed up against the small of his back had turned warm, making every second more uncomfortable than the last. Having secreted the pistol beneath his shirt and pants before exiting the train, Marcus felt bad leaving Rachel and David defenseless, but one pistol wouldn’t be enough to stop Mr. Doe.
It won
’t be enough if I fail here, anyway
.

“I already told you, Doe. Rachel was in the APC. David’s probably dead by now, based on him
missing a leg
.”

“You don’t seem very broken up about their deaths, Mr. Warden.”

Marcus shrugged as best as he could given that his arms were raised above his head. “I barely survived the end of the world, then I got to deal with some sort of hell creatures, then I got to drive all up and down the eastern seaboard and you just tried to kill me. I really don’t give a
fuck
about them, you or anybody else.”

Marcus breathed heavily at the end of his rant, his chest rising and sinking quickly.
Was that too much?
Doe was eying him closely, not saying a word.
Shit, it was too much
. Marcus tensed his muscles, preparing to throw himself to the side and grab his gun. It was a fool’s plan, but he was about to completely run out of options.

“Well then, Mr. Warden.” Doe’s arm dropped a half inch, the only sign of his lessened aggression. “If they’re dead, and you clearly will know nothing about what they knew, then your usefulness is at an end.”

Flames exploded from the end of Mr. Doe’s pistol along with a sharp crack that rose above the sound of the helicopter blades. Fire burned through Marcus’s shoulder and he fell forward, unable to stop himself from slamming his face into the dirt. He rolled as his body’s momentum continued forward, screaming in pain as his injured shoulder was scraped and bent against the ground, making the pain nearly unbearable.

“You son of a bitch!” Marcus yelled, spit flying from his mouth. “Just kill me!”

Doe held the gun to Marcus’s head. Now just a foot away, he was crouched down, staring directly into Marcus’s eyes. “I suppose I owe you that much. Tell me something, though, before I do so.”

Marcus said nothing as he gritted his teeth and breathed heavily, fighting the blood loss and pain in his shoulder.

“Which one of you was foolish enough to lead me to you?”

Leonard McComb | Nancy Sims

10:02 AM, April 21, 2038

Another knock on the door followed Nancy’s question, preventing Krylov from answering. A young man ducked in and quickly saluted the commander before leaning over and whispering in his ear. Krylov’s face remained neutral and he nodded at the man. Taking his coffee cup, he stood up and gestured for Nancy to do the same.

“Please excuse me for a few moments, Nancy. I need to tend to some urgent business. We’ll resume our conversation once I return. Until then, if you’d like to visit your companion, I’ve been informed that he’s conscious. Afonin will show you to the medical bay.”

Krylov stepped past the crewman who had spoken to him and hurried down the hall and out of sight. Grigory Afonin beckoned for Nancy to follow him and spoke in a thick accent, stumbling over his words. “Please, if you follow me.” Commander Krylov, to his credit, had nearly perfect mastery of English, and when he had spoken with Nancy, his accent was far less noticeable than any of the others on the sub.

“Please, watch your head.” Afonin pointed to the low doorway as they stepped into the hall. Turning left, Afonin walked quickly and Nancy hurried to stay with him, distracted by the numerous sights and sounds around her. After taking on the two Americans, Commander Krylov had decided to forego any pretense of stealth. The skeleton crew had quickly returned the Arkhangelsk to full power, and though most of the submarine was devoid of activity, lights, fans and electronic devices of various shapes and sizes were all powered up for use.

The walk from the room where Nancy and Krylov had spoken to the medical bay took several minutes. When she and Afonin arrived, he opened the door and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Knock to leave,” he spoke quickly, then closed the door behind her. Turning from the sealed hatch to the room interior, Nancy’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she made out the shape of a body resting on a slightly inclined bed. She ran to the side of the bed and grabbed the hand of the person lying down, knowing who it was before seeing his face.

“Leonard! Thank God; you’re alive!”

Leonard’s eyes were closed, but he opened them at the sound of Nancy’s voice. His face was bruised from falling to the ground when he was shot, and he was pale, but he smiled regardless, happy to see Nancy once again. A light blanket was pulled up to his chest, and as Nancy looked down the length of the bed, she could see that the outline of his right leg stopped at the knee. Nervously she reached for the blanket to pull it up and see the extent of the damage for herself, but Leonard’s hand stopped her. He grasped her wrist weakly, trembling, and spoke softly, his voice cracking.

“Please don’t. I’m not ready.”

Nancy nodded and sat down on a stool next to Leonard. Taking his hand in hers, she held him tightly, staring at him in silence. Leonard’s breathing was ragged, though his heartbeat was strong, and Nancy could sense that he was fighting both the loss of blood and whatever drugs had been injected into his body to help dull the pain.

“I spoke to the commander of the sub, Commander Krylov, and told him what had happened.”

Leonard blinked his eyes slowly a few times, then gave up fighting the urge to close them. “Did he believe you?”

Nancy shrugged. “I’m not sure. He brought in a couple of other people who apparently encountered the swarms. Before we could keep talking he had to leave, though he said he’d be back to finish our conversation later.”

Leonard didn’t reply for a moment and Nancy looked at him closely, wondering if he had fallen asleep. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and looked at her intently. “Do what you have to, Nancy. This sub is our last chance if Marcus and Rachel fail. Do whatever it takes to convince him of the truth.”

“Truth shouldn’t need convincing.” A voice from behind Nancy startled her and she jumped up, turning around to see where it came from. “It’s the truth, after all.”

Commander Krylov stood in the doorway to the medical bay with another man behind him. They walked in and pulled up a pair of stools next to Nancy before sitting down. Nancy sat back down slowly, still keeping Leonard’s hand held tightly.

“Nancy, I gather that your companion’s name is Leonard. May I ask, sir, your full name for our records?”

Leonard blinked lazily, masking the speed at which his eyes flicked between Nancy, Krylov and the other man seated next to the commander. “Leonard McComb. Professional sanitation engineer, survivor of the apocalypse and in desperate need of whisky and a peg-leg.”

Krylov laughed heartily at Leonard’s gallows humor. “It’s good to see you in high spirits! Our doctor was worried you weren’t going to pull through, but you’ve proved both his skill and your determination to live.”

Still grinning, Krylov took a small laptop computer from the man seated next to him and opened it, revealing the screen. On it was a set of open files, one of which was strangely familiar to Nancy, though she had trouble placing it at first.

“Do you recognize this information?” Krylov asked, holding the laptop closer for both Nancy and Leonard to view. Nancy looked at Leonard, trying to remember where she had seen it, when a memory returned to her and she suddenly realized what it was. “Where did you get that?”

Leonard coughed and spoke before Krylov could answer. “I’ll hand it to you, Krylov; your men are quite thorough in their searches.”

Nancy turned back to Leonard, her eyes wide as he continued, explaining the source of the data to Nancy.

“I grabbed the data stick from Rachel back at the armory, before things went to hell. I figured it would come in handy at some point, if we ever needed proof of what’s been happening.”

“Mr. McComb is correct, Ms. Sims. After his surgery, we found this data stick hidden in his belongings. After decrypting it, we were able to analyze the data in short order.”

Krylov paused and looked at Nancy and Leonard for several seconds.

“Well?” Nancy said impatiently, tired of Krylov’s delays. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that it confirms our story.” Leonard answered in Krylov’s stead, who nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Correct again, Mr. McComb. What you shared with me, Ms. Sims, was frightening, and viewing this data just made it a thousand times worse.”

“So… you’re going to help us?”

“Protocol, Ms. Sims, requires that I return to port immediately and deliver this high-value information to our intelligence service.” Krylov looked at the floor, sighing softly to himself. “However, given that there is no intelligence service, port or anything else left to speak of, I find myself forced into an awkward and unforeseen position.”

“Commander,” Leonard said, “what do we have to do to convince you to help?”

Krylov stood, closed the laptop computer and placed it under his arm. He took a deep breath, replaced the hat on his head, and straightened his back, adopting a more formal posture.

“Mr. McComb. Ms. Sims. The Arkhangelsk and her crew stand ready to aid you in the destruction of this pestilence.”